The Red Queen Hypothesis
by Fikcja
Summary: In progress. "It takes all the running you can do, to keep in one place." The Order is locked in a never-ending arms race with Voldemort and his followers. Can Hermione discover a way to tip the balance in their favour? HG/SB
1. Where's My Reward to Reap?

**Disclaimer: I solemnly swear I do not own Harry Potter or related characters/settings.**

**The Red Queen Hypothesis** – A metaphor for the co-evolutionary arms race that exists between competing species. One species evolves an adaptation that increases its fitness and gives it a competitive advantage over a second species. Individuals of the second species possessing traits that allow them to outcompete the first species are favoured, and the second species evolves a competitively advantageous adaptation, and so on. Theory first proposed by Leigh Van Valen.

-----------------------

**Where's My Reward to Reap?**

"I refuse to spend the rest of my life trapped like some worthless housefly, Albus!"

"You are not trapped, Sirius. Your name has been cleared. It would be wise for you to keep your head down, however. Voldemort is not yet defeated. I know you wish to accompany Harry, but the Order needs you here, at Grimmauld Place, to research charms that could potentially weaken Voldemort. Charms are, after all, your strong suit."

Sirius bristled with anger at the headmaster's casual attitude and apparent lack of understanding. Didn't he know how difficult it was to "sit and stay" as Snape frequently ordered him to do, a cruel smirk gracing his lips? How frustrating it was to be completely useless?

Since his escape from Azkaban, Sirius had done nothing but "keep his head down". He'd been in hiding four years before Pettigrew got himself caught by the Order. And a fat lot of good that did Sirius. Dumbledore still wasn't going to let him leave the God forsaken house. The sight of the headmaster's impassive expression served only to infuriate him further.

"I will not remain here any longer, Albus. This house is a manifestation of everything I resent!"

"Understandable. And yet, I cannot allow you to leave. Where could you possibly--"

"He can stay with me."

Surprised, both men turned their attention to the speaker. Hermione Granger stood, leaning on the doorframe between the kitchen and the entrance hall, her cool gaze resting on the two men caught holding placemats and silverware- a most undignified position. Her lip twitched at the sight of Albus Dumbledore, only man Tom Riddle feared, and Sirius Black, ladies' man, setting the table with a floral theme.

"Ah, Miss Granger," Dumbledore's blue eyes appraised her for a moment before a smile bloomed across his wizened visage, "What a wonderful suggestion! I trust your... trip was uneventful?"

"Very," Hermione replied, glancing at Sirius, who was staring at her.

Sirius hadn't seen Hermione in over a year. She had spent the previous summer with her parents; parents who, courtesy of Lord Voldemort, were no longer living. He'd assumed she had spent the rest of the year in mourning, declining invitations to the Burrow or Grimmauld Place in favour of coming to terms with her grief.

That had not been the case, however.

A few weeks ago, Molly Weasley had lost patience with her, stating that she was bringing Hermione to the Burrow for the summer holidays whether the girl liked it or not. Dumbledore had stopped her, explaining that Hermione was not, in fact, grief-stricken. She was working for the Order.

"Does that arrangement meet with your satisfaction, Sirius?"

"O-Of course, Albus," Sirius replied, conscious of his current gaping-fish-like countenance. Pulling himself together he smiled, nodding his thanks to young woman before him.

Hermione had always been pretty, but the past year had certainly refined her beauty. She had slimmed down, though she'd never been overweight, and her body had grown into its small, but attractive, curves. He was happy to note that her dark auburn curls, while shorter, were just as unruly as ever.

The most notable change, however, was in her eyes. Though still a dark brown, they exuded confidence and maturity, a sad wisdom, of sorts, that legitimized her intelligence.

He wondered what, exactly, she had been doing for Dumbledore.

Hermione returned the smile warmly, albeit tiredly, before turning and making her way up the sweeping staircase that led to Grimmauld Place's upper floors.

He convinced himself it was a trick of the light that had, for a moment, made her eyes appear shadowed and dark with worry. Slightly unnerved, he turned back to his assigned task of setting the table, hoping to forget that, in that moment, Hermione appeared to have aged ten years.

----------------------

Chapter title, "Where's my reward to reap", from the song "I Want to Know" by The Mavericks


	2. A Mind at Peace with All Below

**Disclaimer: I solemnly swear I do not own Harry Potter or related characters/settings.**

-----------------------

**A Mind at Peace with All Below**

Dinner at Grimmauld Place was a noisy affair. The small kitchen was filled to the brim with idle chatter and laughter, its occupants happily tucking in to the magnificent celebratory feast prepared by Molly Weasley. She had, once again, outdone herself. Platters of roast potatoes, grilled vegetables, homemade bread, and a steaming pork roast all gave off tantalizing aromas that tickled everyone's taste buds. Frequent toasts to Ginny, the most recent graduate of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, served to compliment the meal (and people's spirits).

Sirius, observing the scene, felt a familiar warm feeling begin to build in his chest. Seeing everyone together, his closest friends seated around the sagging, food-laden table, gave him a sense of such satisfaction he had trouble distinguishing the event from a dream. Pinching himself, however, only served to bring a grimace of pain to his lips and bruises to his arm, so he contented himself with looking around at the table's occupants with a fond eye.

To his left sat Minerva McGonagall, ever prim and proper, with her hair pulled back into a tight bun and her aged face pinched in concentration. The focus of her attention was anyone's guess; cutting the roast and ignoring Albus's straying fingers were equally daunting tasks.

Next to her sat the culprit of her discomfort, eyes twinkling with merriment as he winked at Sirius. Beside him, Kingsley Shacklebolt, renowned auror and resident friendly giant, Remus Lupin, voice of reason, and Arthur Weasley who was jabbering excitedly over what Sirius presumed to be some novel muggle technology.

Molly's seat was empty, courtesy of her frantic bustling about the kitchen. Alastor Moody sat next to her chair, normal eye fixed on his dinner plate and magical eye fixed on the rather pretty, but clearly uncomfortable, Nymphadora Tonks. Beside her sat Bill Weasley, hair tied back in a long ponytail and fang-toothed earring glinting in the evening light.

Fred and George came next. Or was is George and Fred? Sirius was never quite sure. The twins' wide-eyed, innocent faces caused Sirius's lip to twitch as his gaze passed over them- he was positive he had just seen them slip some fizzy, smoking concoction into Charlie's drink. Next to Charlie sat Ginny who, pink-cheeked from all the congratulations she was receiving, was engaging Ron in a passionate debate about Quidditch.

And then there was Harry. Harry Potter, boy who lived. Harry Potter, boy who faced and survived more encounters with Voldemort than the average child had, on a dare, whispered the Dark Lord's name. His Harry: brave, loyal, talented… and currently infatuated with the youngest Weasley. Sirius smiled as he watched his godson shoot yet another furtive glance at Ginny.

Continuing their sweep across the room, Sirius's eyes landed on the two empty chairs sitting between Harry and himself. One, Hermione's chair, had been empty all year. The other, though presently unoccupied, was surrounded by an oppressive air, a constant reminder of its surly occupant. Sirius looked away quickly. The bitter taste left by thoughts of Severus Snape only served to remind him of the loneliness and melancholy he would feel once his friends departed.

It always happened that way. His spirits would be brightened by the Order's company, then irrevocably shattered when they left, leaving Sirius to spiral ever deeper into depression.

"_Ain't no sunshine when they're gone, indeed_," he thought as a hearty clap on the back prompted him to mold his lips into a smile befitting the jovial atmosphere.

The companionable chatter was doomed to meet an untimely end, however, as the collective gasp and ensuing silence announced the arrival of one Hermione Granger.

One look at the young woman had Sirius reeling. Her unruly hair was wrestled back into its customary bun, looking for all like she had touched a static ball, her Weasley-knit sweater, though notably less snug, was still vibrant as ever, and Hello Kitty still peeped out from under the cuffs of her jeans to say, "Hi."

The tension in the room was palpable, everyone waiting with bated breath for an entrance that was sure to be, at the very least, worthy of a mid-afternoon soap opera. Remus cleared his throat nervously, a fidgeting Ginny elicited a loud creak from her chair… even Dumbledore leaned forward to rest his chin on steepled fingers.

Hermione, however, took it all in stride. With seasoned aplomb, a mind at peace with all below, she clapped her hands together and announced, "Molly, this smells delicious. I'm starving!"

Taking her seat with a wry grin, Hermione speared herself a piece of meat, the tension in the room dribbling away as effectively as the juices from Mrs. Weasley's famous pork roast.

-----------------------

Chapter title, "A Mind at Peace with All Below", is from a line in Lord Byron's poem, She Walks in Beauty Like the Night.

Sirius' thought, "_Ain't no sunshine when they're gone, indeed_," is an adaptation from the song "Ain't No Sunshine" by Bill Withers.


	3. That Wrapp'd Truth in Tales

**Disclaimer: I solemnly swear I do not own Harry Potter or related characters/settings.**

-----------------------

**That Wrapp'd Truth in Tales**

Exasperated, Hermione threw off the heavy covers and sat up with a huff. It appeared that sleep was taking a leaf out of adventure's book.

'_Flighty temptress indeed_,' she thought.

The oppressive air clung to Hermione's thin frame as she stepped over the thread-bare carpet towards the window. Like everything in the house, save perhaps the painstakingly renovated kitchen, the once decadent carpet was now past its prime. The elegant pattern was faded almost beyond recognition and Hermione noticed it was fraying in several places.

Throwing open the window, she breathed deeply and let the cool breeze caress her cheek. The fresh air was a welcome respite from the thick, grimy atmosphere of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black. Though Mrs. Weasley had desperately tried to cover the lingering smell of decay with everything from candles and incense to advanced air freshening charms, her efforts proved futile. The amalgamation of cloying scents had only made the air heavier.

Hermione sighed, displacing a lock of hair from the rats' nest atop her head, as she gazed out over Grimmauld Place's vast gardens. These "gardens" resembled jungles more than anything, and Hermione tried to occupy her mind by picturing them in their former glory.

The harder she tried to focus, however, the more easily her mind slipped back to events from earlier in the evening.

-------------------------------

She had known it would be a difficult entrance and she'd spent hours preparing herself to face the roomful of Order members. She'd stared at her reflection until her facial expressions were perfectly schooled and the enchanted mirror warned her, in a bossy, maternal sort of way, that vanity kills.

'_At least you die pretty_,' she thought.

She had to tell the Order enough to satisfy their curiosity and alleviate their worries, but not enough to spark further interest in her activities. She was most nervous about Harry and Ron's reactions; neither was known for minding his own business. Ron's nose, in particular, tended to find its long, freckly self where it didn't belong.

Unfortunately, time has a way of racing forward when something dreadful lies ahead. It wasn't long before Hermione's worrying was cut short by the telltale scrape of chairs and comfortable chatter that announced the Order's arrival.

She paced the second floor hallway for a few moments, allowing everyone to get situated, before descending the stairs to the kitchen. Then, with a deep breath and encouraging thought, '_Practice makes perfect, practice makes perfect, practice makes perfect,' _Hermione pushed open the doors.

As it was, the mantra she'd repeated over and over to herself held true. She'd managed to ingratiate herself into the fold with relative ease.

_A stunned silence announced her arrival, interrupted only by the shrill creak of a chair and muffled throat clearing. She could feel their eyes boring into her as she strolled, nonchalantly as possible, to her seat._

'This is it,' she thought, 'It's all or nothing.'

_Taking another deep breath, Hermione clapped her hands together and announced, "Molly, this smells delicious. I'm starving!"_

_As she took her seat, Hermione schooled her features into a smile. She speared herself a piece of meat, watching as the tension in the room dribbled away as easily as the juices from Mrs. Weasley's famous pork roast._

Then came the barrage of questions, as expected. She responded exactly as she and Dumbledore had discussed, each answer carefully crafted down to the last pause and inflection. Even her facial expression and body language was controlled.

"_So, Hermione, you've been working for the Order?" Remus asked._

"_Yes, I have," she smiled, "I've been researching the magical practices of ancient civilizations."_

"_You have, have you?" Moody sounded skeptical. "Why?"_

"_In the hope that some of their traditions or techniques, though outdated, might provide some new insight into, or perhaps a more stable background for, modern magic."_

_She could see the wheels turning in Remus's head. A slight frown appeared over his brow._

"_So you're looking for a way to strengthen spells."_

"_Among other things, yes," Hermione said, "Egyptians, for example, practiced their magic in the morning, claiming that the sun's energy magnified the power of spells. They also used a variety of body positions, hand motions, and signals. I'm looking into modern day applications of such practices, be they in regard to spells or potions or even the channeling of magic through a wand."_

_Hermione kept her gaze politely trained on Remus, occasionally glancing around the table both to include the entire Order and to gauge everyone's reactions. Most members were sporting pensive expressions, some even nodding their approval. Dumbledore fixed her with his happy, twinkling stare and she was surprised to see Kingsley Shacklebolt give her a supportive smile._

_Moody, however, was not so easily satisfied._

"_Why are __**you**__ doing it?" he asked bluntly, his face deformed by a scowl._

"_Well," she said thoughtfully, looking him in the eye, "I suppose Dumbledore chose me because I've the most flexible schedule and the least number of commitments in London, which makes travelling easy. My appearance is rather plain as well, allowing easy assimilation into crowds. And," she paused to chew her lip as though in embarrassment, "Let's not forget how much I love to read!"_

_The last comment drew a few chuckles from the seated Order members. Even Moody acknowledged her reasoning with a grunt and a terse nod, the scowl fading, if not disappearing, from his weathered face._

With an approving smile from Dumbledore, Hermione had started to elaborate on the tomes she'd found and translated. When she noticed most eyes glazing over, she'd given up with a sheepish grin.

And, just like that, she was free. A conciliatory pat on the back from Ron had shifted the Order's attention to Harry, whose glasses had been knocked to the floor by Ron's belligerent elbow.

The rest of the meal had passed with little fuss. She chatted with Harry about auror training and with Ginny about her future career with the Ministry… she even shared a few words with the surly potions professor.

Before long, people were setting down their forks and pushing away their plates. Friendly conversations died down to comfortable silences and Order members thanked Mrs. Weasley for yet another magnificent meal before flooing or apparating to their homes.

Satisfied with her performance, Hermione had quietly slipped out of the kitchen and was making her way to the rickety old staircase that led to her room when a voice stopped her cold.

_"You're lying."_

Hermione turned slowly to face her accuser. "I beg your pardon?" she asked.

"You heard me. You're lying."

Sirius was leaning against the doorway through which she had just walked, appraising her with dark, glittering eyes. Silhouetted as he was by the light flooding in from the kitchen, the rest of his expression was difficult to discern.

Hermione automatically folded her arms across her chest, mimicking his closed posture. Her face took on a pensive look as she studied the man before her. He was still too thin, his hair was still too long, and his eyes were still too shadowed.

"_I'm not sure I under-"_

"_Of course you do. When have you ever not understood anything?"_

_Not so long ago, Hermione's hackles would have risen over such a question and she would have been quick to bite out a scathing retort. Her travels, however, had allowed, no, forced her to grow up. She was no longer the shy, insecure girl she had been at Hogwarts. As such, she merely cocked her head to the side and shrugged._

"_You know Harry carries a sneakoscope in his pocket, Sirius. If I were lying, it would alert everyone at the table in a most loud and conspicuous manner," she said, lips turning up into a coy half smile that hid her discomfort._

_A derisive snort accompanied Sirius as he stood to his full height. He stepped closer, towering over her. "Lying, dissembling, misleading… it's all the same. You forget who you're talking to, girl. This house, this darkness," he indicated the skewered elf heads lining the corridor; "This is my legacy. If there are ancient rituals that strengthen spells and their casters, there sure as hell are rituals that weaken them, too."_

"_Yes, I came across a few references in my reading, but they all involved dark magic."_

"_I'm well aware."_

_She paused for a moment, allowing herself to appear appropriately shocked._

"_I'm not about to go robbing graves, breaking into cursed temples, or participating in illegal necromantic ceremonies, if that's what you're thinking! It would be a bit like calling the kettle black," she chuckled, her voice now laced with amusement. "Besides, Molly would have a fit if she suspected Dumbledore was asking me to consider, let alone research, dark magic!"_

_She studied him as he absorbed her words and was relieved to see the frown lines fade somewhat from his forehead. His arms remained crossed over his chest, however._

"_Just be careful, Hermione. Darkness is a beautiful temptress. I doubt even her faithful servants that wrapp'd truth in tales knew her themselves through all her veils."_

And with a quiet "Good night," Sirius had left her standing there, speechless, staring after his retreating form.

It was only after long minutes had passed that Hermione, slightly shell-shocked, had turned and made the climb up several staircases to the sleepless night that awaited her.

-----------------------

Chapter title, "That Wrapp'd Truth in Tales" and quote, "that wrapp'd truth in tales knew her themselves, through all her veils" are from a poem called "Ingrateful Beauty Threatened" by Thomas Carew.

The reference to adventure being a flighty temptress is from Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince by J. K. Rowling. At the end of chapter three, when they are leaving the Dursley's house, Dumbledore says to Harry, "And now, Harry, let us step out into the night and pursue that _**flighty temptress**_, adventure."


	4. In History Lie Like Bones

**Disclaimer: I solemnly swear I do not own Harry Potter or related characters/settings.**

* * *

**In History Lie Like Bones**

Having given up on the pretense of sleep, Hermione was puttering around the kitchen early the next morning. Coffee was brewing in the muggle coffeemaker she'd insisted on buying for Grimmauld Place and the oven was preheating for cinnamon rolls before the sun had even managed to reach the window sill.

Too tired to worry about slamming cupboard doors or smashing bowls down on the granite counter, Hermione paid no heed to the noise she was making. "They sleep like rocks, anyway," she grumbled, "and those that don't have rooms on higher floors."

Baking was therapeutic for Hermione, especially when it involved kneading and mashing dough. She'd picked it up from her mother who, despite being a dentist, indulged her talent for producing confectionaries laden with sugar. Baking on lazy Sunday afternoons had become a sort of tradition for the two of them. At first, they'd stuck to the basics—scones, cakes, trifles—but it wasn't long before they had started expanding their horizons and seeking out new recipes, each more challenging than the last.

She remembered her father coming home from his customary round of golf one evening to find the kitchen in complete disarray. Pots and pans were covering every available surface, ingredients were haphazardly strewn across the counters, and, standing in the middle of it all, were Hermione and her mother, covered head to toe in flour and what looked suspiciously like the crumbs of his favourite ginger snap cookies. Oh, how they had laughed!

She and her mother had related their rather unsuccessful attempt at making gingerbread cheesecake, with plenty of embellishments of course, and her father had—had—Angrily, Hermione tore her thoughts away from her late parents as a familiar prickling sensation reached her eyes. She would not cry.

Studiously avoiding thoughts of her family, Hermione attacked the dough with a vengeance. Her palms drove into the soft flesh again and again, mercilessly forcing it into submission.

"Is that my face you're imagining?" a voice interrupted her violent reverie.

She jumped slightly and looked over her shoulder at the speaker. "Right person, wrong body part," she quipped, turning her attention back to kneading.

"Ouch," Sirius grimaced, approaching the counter where she was working. "What're you making?"

"Cinnamon rolls."

Sirius watched as she continued to work the dough. Less vigorously now, but the tension was still thrumming through her body. She could feel it squeezing its way up her spine and pulsing between her shoulder blades.

"There's coffee in the pot," she said, nodding her head in the direction of the coffee maker. To her relief, Sirius took up the offer and she was temporarily availed of his intense gaze. She could hear him rummaging around the cupboards, presumably for a mug, as she pulled a rolling pin from one of the drawers.

It wasn't long, however, before she once again felt him looming over her. She had rolled out the dough and was reaching for sugar to make the filling when a bowl already filled with cinnamon sugar was thrust before her.

She looked up at him in surprise. "You made the filling?"

"Sure," he shrugged, "It's not like—"

But Hermione cut him off, eyes quickly narrowing with suspicion. "How do you even know what goes in cinnamon buns? You didn't add any _extra_ ingredients, did you?"

"While that is definitely an intriguing thought," he laughed, indicating the cookbook on the counter, "I just followed directions."

Hermione appraised him for another moment, taking in the innocent expression on his face and the hands raised in surrender, before seizing the bowl with a quiet, "Harrumph."

----------------

With the cinnamon buns in the oven, Hermione found herself facing Sirius with nothing to distract her.

Loathe as she was to speak of their previous discussion, she knew it had to be addressed. If Sirius was going to stay with her, he would be much closer to her research than any of the other Order members. In fact, she was hoping he would be able to assist her with some aspects… which meant she had to reveal enough information to appease, perhaps intrigue, him, but not enough information to worry him or raise his suspicions about the morality of the means she was investigating to bring about the end of Lord Voldemort. She could divulge the rest once he became more familiar with the ultimate goal of her research.

The silence extended between them and Hermione watched as Sirius handed her a mug of coffee before pouring one for himself and leaning back against the counter.

"About last night—" he began.

"It's fine, Sirius."

"But I—"

"Really. I understand your concern and your reservations. And, to be honest, I'm glad you cared enough to bring them up."

"You are?" he asked, somewhat taken aback by her nod. "You aren't upset with me?"

"Of course not, Sirius. You want to protect me, and I appreciate that. But I also need to pursue this research, even if some of the material I uncover falls closer to the gray zone than I'm comfortable with."

"So there _is_ more to this than you let on."

"Yes," she looked up from the mug she'd been staring at, sighing when she saw him cross his arms. "Some of the information I've come across has led me to believe that some of these ancient rituals weren't entirely benign."

"Meaning?"

"That some rituals contain elements that may be analogous to what we consider dark magic."

"I see."

"Do you? By studying them, maybe we can find a way to weaken the dark spells we're bound to face from the Death Eaters."

"And we're just studying them? Not using them?"

Hermione shrugged. "As far as I can tell, they can't be applied to modern magic. But the relationships between the old rituals and ancient magic can most certainly be extrapolated to create _new_ rituals that might affect the power of present day spells."

Sirius sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"You realize this is a slippery slope."

"I do, which is why Dumbledore and I decided the details of my research would be disclosed on a 'need to know' basis."

"You told me."

"I did," she replied, meeting Sirius' gaze. She watched the thoughts racing behind his dark eyes as he hesitated, hiding her own doubts and insecurities behind a façade of certainty.

But after only a brief pause, his face cleared and Sirius dropped his defensive posture.

"Well, I suppose you _are_ the brightest witch of your age, after all," he said with a small smile.

"Thank you, Sirius. I—"

"Bloody hell, that smells good!"

The exclamation, along with others of a similar nature, followed by the creaking of floorboards signaled the awakening of their friends and caused Hermione and Sirius to laugh as she removed the cinnamon buns from the oven.

* * *

Chapter title, "In History Lie Like Bones" is from W. H. Auden's play, The Ascent of F6. The entire quote says, "Acts of injustice done / Between the setting and the rising sun / In history lie like bones, each one."


End file.
